Gemotions

The pawn shop’s cluttered aisles seemed to shrink with every passing minute. He was pacing, a frustrated tiger in a tiny cage. The shop owner, a man with a perpetually weary expression, was examining a stack of old records. The needle scratching across the vinyl felt like a personal affront. Each creak of the floorboards, each sigh from the owner, amplified his disquiet.

“Do you have any idea how long this will take?” he asked, his voice tight.

The owner shrugged, eyes still on the records. “Depends on what we're looking for, doesn't it?” The response did nothing to soothe his agitation.